


Muscle Stim

by sahiya



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Hockey Player Patrick Kane, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Physical Therapist Jonathan Toews, Physical Therapy, knee injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 03:28:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13262667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: The last thing Patrick needed was a stupid crush on the dude whose job it was to get him back out on the ice as quickly as possible. And yet Patrick's dick––and his brain––had other ideas.





	Muscle Stim

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crazyforkazer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazyforkazer/gifts).



> This was written for crazyforkazer for the prompt "therapy" in my [2017 Fuck Trump H/C BINGO Fundraiser](http://sahiya.dreamwidth.org/736914.html). 
> 
> Many thanks to saudades for beta reading. 
> 
> FYI: [Bathtub Gin](http://bathtubginnyc.com/), while a real place, is in NYC. I'm sure, given its history, that Chicago has similar places. I have no idea if the one in NYC has backrooms.

Patrick’s physical therapist was fucking hot, and it was pissing him off. 

The last thing he needed was a stupid crush on the dude whose job it was to get him back out on the ice as quickly as possible. And he wasn’t even Patrick’s _type_. “If he’s dumb, closeted, and an asshole, you’ll be hopelessly attracted to him,” Erica had once told him, and she was right. 

Jonathan Toews was not dumb, as evidenced by all the diplomas and state licenses on the wall of his office. He wasn’t closeted, either; he’d pulled into the parking lot one day right as Patrick had arrived, and Patrick had spotted a Human Rights Campaign bumper sticker on his silver Prius. 

He might be an asshole. It was hard to tell what Patrick would find if he ever managed to crack the shell of Toews’s professionalism. 

It was really kind of sick. Patrick really shouldn’t have a thing for the guy who spent three hours a week torturing him, or at least that was what it felt like most days. They didn’t talk about anything that wasn’t pain levels, ranges of motion, or Patrick’s icing schedule. It was really boring, even for Patrick, and he should not have found anything about it hot at all. 

And yet, Patrick’s dick––and his _brain_ ––had other ideas. Toews was just so damn intense. And careful. There was something about having all that focus turned on him that Patrick found kind of hot. And also, kind of... weirdly soothing? Like, while Toews was focused on him, he didn’t have to worry about anything, because Toews would just take care of it. 

The first time Patrick had met him, twelve hours post-op, exhausted after a shitty night’s sleep and doped up on painkillers, Toews had sat down on the stood next to Patrick’s bed. He’d pulled up close and said, “Mr. Kane, I’m your physical therapist, Jonathan Toews. I am very good at my job, and I’m going to get you back on the ice, good as new.”

Patrick had blinked at him. “Promise?”

“Promise,” Toews had said, and asked him for his pain level. 

Weeks later, and Toews still brought that same level of determination and confidence to every session. It made Patrick suspect that Toews was fucking amazing in the sack. Patrick would bet he gave _great_ head. And Patrick would rather die than admit it, but Toews’s flat Canadian vowels kind of did it for him. Weird hockey pre-conditioning, probably. 

These were not awesome thoughts to be having while the man himself was only about a foot away from Patrick’s crotch, massaging his injured knee carefully around the incision site. The first week or so, the narcotics Patrick had been on meant that he hadn’t had to worry too much about popping a boner in Toews’s face, but now he was just on a prescription-strength dose of Aleve twice a day, and it was starting to be a real concern.

Talking to Toews about anything that wasn’t knee-related had been like trying to talk to a brick wall so far, but if Patrick didn't distract himself, he was going to end up seriously embarrassing them both. “So, um, you watch the Hawks game last night?” Patrick asked.

“I don’t watch hockey,” Toews replied, barely glancing up. 

“Ever?” Patrick said in surprise. “Good Canadian boy like you, I thought it was practically required.”

“Maybe there’s a reason I left,” Toews said. 

It was so flatly delivered, Patrick had to blink for a second before he realized Toews had made a joke. Not a very good one, but a joke nonetheless. “Do they revoke your passport for that?” he asked.

Toews nodded solemnly. “You have to know all the words to at least five Tragically Hip songs and watch hockey. Otherwise they kick you out.”

“Tough luck,” Patrick said. “How’d you end up in Chicago?”

“I wanted better weather,” Toews said, flat again, totally deadpan. But Patrick was prepared for it this time and snorted out a laugh. 

“Seriously, though,” he said. “I see you more than I see anyone. Feels weird I don’t know anything about you.”

Toews shrugged. “Came for school and decided to stay.”

“How long have you worked for the team?”

“I don’t, actually. I work for the clinic. But the guy who used to handle PT for the team moved to Boston, so now I’m it.”

“You like it?” Patrick asked. 

Toews looked at up at him. “It doesn’t suck. Parts of it are almost nice.”

Patrick batted his eyelashes. “I knew you loved me. Deep down beneath that gruff Canadian exterior, I knew you’d been won over by the Kaner charm.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Toews muttered, ducking his head to write something down on Patrick’s chart. The tips of his ears were pink. 

_Oh ho_. That was unexpected. But also awesome. 

“Muscle stim time,” Toews said, and pushed himself back on his rolling stood to grab hold of the electrotherapy machine. Patrick leaned back, watching as Toews attached the electrodes in a loose circle around his knee. He turned it on and adjusted the settings carefully. It’d felt weird at first, but now it was almost soothing, his skin tingling as the machine stimulated the muscles in his knee. Though Patrick would’ve preferred a more hands-on method.

“So, what do you do for fun?” Patrick asked. 

“I play golf,” Toews said shortly. 

Golf. Patrick frowned at his knee. Might be tough right now. Also, not a lot of golf courses were open in February in Chicago. Driving ranges, maybe, but that wasn't Patrick’s idea of a great first date.

“How do you feel about movies?” he asked. 

Toews paused, looking at him. Patrick forced himself not to blink or look away. 

“I don’t mind them,” Toews finally said. “But I don’t... hang out with patients.”

“What about former patients?” Patrick asked, because he hadn’t gotten where he was without a lot of persistence. 

“I might see a movie with a former patient,” Toews allowed. “Provided that patient had been a _model patient_ ,” he added sternly, in a way that made Patrick have to suppress a full body shudder. “A model patient who did all his exercises and didn’t try to put weight on his affected knee before I allowed it.”

Patrick straightened his spine instinctively. Toews’s lips quirked. 

A model patient, Patrick thought. He could do that. 

***

Being a model patient _sucked_. 

Not that Patrick wanted to fuck up his recovery, thank you very much. He had a hockey career to get back to. But being a model patient involved a lot of sitting around and doing nothing. He felt ready to start walking again, the sooner to start skating. But Toews hadn’t signed off on it yet, and so Patrick gritted his teeth and kept plodding around on his crutches. Didn’t even take his brace off, even though it itched and kept sliding down his leg. 

It was sheer boredom that probably prompted him to type _Jonathan Toews_ into Google one night. Boredom and a massive crush, he guessed. 

First hit was his LinkedIn page. Patrick wondered briefly what it’d be like to have a normal life with a LinkedIn page. It’d never really felt like it was in the cards for him.

There was a bunch of professional stuff underneath it, but nothing that told Patrick any more than the letters after Toews’s name. He went to the second page of hits. 

Jackpot. 

It was a roster from 2006 for that boarding school in Minnesota Crosby had attended. Patrick had no idea why it was still online, but it was. And that was Jonathan Toews’s name, and in the photo, in the second row, was Toews’s stupid face. A little rounder, a little more spotted with acne, but definitely him. 

He’d played hockey. He’d _played hockey_. Patrick punched the air in excitement. He knew it. No good Canadian boy was that indifferent to the sport. 

“Yeah, okay, but then why didn’t he tell you he used to play?” Erica asked when he called to tell her. 

“I don’t know, who cares, that’s––”

“Kind of a big red flag, don’t you think? If he wanted you to know, he’d have told you. You gotta wonder why he didn’t.”

“I don’t know,” Patrick said. “If he was at Shattuck, he was probably halfway decent. Maybe he’s still upset about not making it to the show.”

“Seems like he’s done all right for himself.” 

“Yeah, but it’s not, you know.”

“Not everyone _wants_ to be a professional hockey player, Pat,” Erica said, with a verbal roll of her eyes. 

Patrick didn’t even know what to say to that. Who wouldn’t want his life? His life was awesome. Yeah, he couldn’t come out without it becoming a giant clusterfuck, and sometimes the travel was tiring, and sometimes reading his own press was just demoralizing, and the whole thing could end in the blink of an eye if he got injured––as he’d had ample reason to remember lately––but even with all of that, it was _awesome_.

Still, Erica usually knew more about people, especially people who weren’t hockey players, than he did, so he didn’t haul off and immediately tell Toews that he’d googled him. He kept his mouth shut and plugged away at being a model patient, and was rewarded the next week when Toews cleared him to start walking. 

“Don’t overdo it,” Toews told him sternly. It should not have been hot but it totally was. “If you experience any pain, back off on it.”

“No pain, got it.”

“I realize that it is antithetical to the hockey player mentality,” Toews went on, now outright glaring at him, “but I mean it. Do not muscle your way through. Don’t grit your teeth and bear it. Just _stop_.”

“I got it, man, jeez,” Patrick said. “Chill, will you?”

Toews stopped and visibly took a deep breath. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s a pet-peeve of mine, athletes who play through injuries or try to go back before they’re ready. It’s a good way to fuck up your body long-term.”

Patrick blinked. “You just swore.”

Toews frowned, seemed to replay the conversation in his head, and grimaced. “Yeah, sorry.”

“No, I mean, it’s fine, it’s just––surprising.”

Toews shrugged. “Like I said, it’s a pet-peeve. And you’re too good, Patrick. I’d hate to see you set yourself back or injure yourself worse.”

“Well, I don’t want that either,” Patrick said. “Besides,” he grinned, “I have extra incentive to get better faster. Model patient, right?”

Toews smiled back. “Exactly.”

Later, when Patrick was at home eating a sad kale salad recommended by the team’s nutritionist and watching a replay of the game he hadn’t played in the night before, he suddenly realized two things:

1\. Toews had said, _You’re too good, Patrick_. Implying that he had watched Patrick play and that he’d admired his skills. 

2\. That pet-peeve of his had come from somewhere. He supposed it could have just come from years in sports medicine, but somehow Patrick didn’t think so. It’d seemed personal. 

There wasn’t anything on the internet about Toews getting injured, but then there wouldn’t be. He probably would’ve been at Shattuck when it happened, and no one cared about the career of some kid who might’ve been great. There was really only one way to find out.

He didn’t have Crosby’s number. But he did have Jack Johnson’s number from playing together at the Olympics a few years back, and he was pretty sure Jack and Crosby had been roommates at Shattuck. Jack was just as likely to have the relevant gossip and maybe more likely to share it.

 **PK:** Hey jack its patrick kane hows columbus did you know a guy at shattuck named jonathan toews?

 **JJ:** hey kaner it’s fine how’s the knee? And no i didn’t but i heard about him. Real hotshot shame about the injury

 **PK:** knees getting better should be back to kick your ass in Feb what kind of injury was it?

A knee injury, Patrick thought. Had to be. That would explain why he was so tetchy about Patrick’s. 

**JJ:** multiple concussions had to stop playing. Sucks right? Howd you run into him?

Whoa. Patrick stopped and stared at his phone. Shit. 

**PK:** hes my physical therapist. thanks for the info

 **JJ:** no problem glad things turned out ok for him

Patrick put his phone away and leaned back against his sofa, staring out at his view of the lake. For some reasons, concussions hadn’t entered his mind as a possibility. Patrick had been really lucky to have never had a major one, but anyone who’d been around long enough knew they were nothing to fuck with. Jack was right, it did seem like things had turned out okay for Toews, but he suddenly wondered how long that had taken. If it’d been him, he thought, it would’ve taken him years to get his shit together again. 

Toews seemed like he was fine. He had a solid job, anyway, and he was good at it. But suddenly the fact that he never talked to Patrick about hockey took on a whole new meaning. 

He still didn’t know what to say about it, so he didn’t say anything. What was he gonna do, bring it up during muscle stim? _Hey, sorry about your hockey career, hope you’re okay watching me play?_ Yeah, no. 

“I almost wish I didn’t know,” Patrick told Erica. “Like, when I didn’t know, I was kind of dumb, I guess, but at least I didn’t know I was being dumb.”

“Don’t assume he’s all traumatized about it,” she said. “If he’s in sports medicine, he works with athletes. He’s probably _mostly_ over it.”

“I guess.”

“He did agree to go out with you. I wouldn’t write it off. But... I wouldn’t say anything just yet. Wait until you’re not his patient.”

That seemed like sound advice, and that time was rapidly approaching, anyway, after what felt like months of treading water. Once he started walking again, it seemed like it took almost no time at all for him to get cleared to get back on the ice. And once he was back on the ice, the team’s trainers took over his recovery. 

“So,” he said, the day of his last visit to the physical therapy facility. Toews was setting up the muscle stim machine, frowning thoughtfully at Patrick’s leg. “You, uh. You still like movies?”

Toews glanced up at him. “Yep. Haven’t changed my mind in the last five weeks.”

“Want to go see one, then?” Patrick asked, hopefully. “Maybe Saturday? We could get dinner first.”

Toews hesitated. Not for very long, but long enough that Patrick started to sweat. He was going to say no, damn it. He’d said yes when it was just a harmless flirtation, probably figuring neither of them would really take it seriously, but Patrick had to go stick his foot in it and now he was stuck here for the next ten minutes of goddamn muscle stim before he could go home and drown himself in his bathtub from shame––

“Saturday is good,” Toews finally said. 

Patrick let out the breath he’d been holding. “Jesus, Toews, you scared me there.”

Toews smirked. “Didn’t realize you cared so much. Also, it’s Jonny.”

“What?”

“Jonny. If we’re going to the movies, you have to call me Jonny.”

“Oh,” Patrick said. “Um, you can call me Kaner, then.”

Toews–– _Jonny_ wrinkled his nose. “Or I could call you Patrick. Or Pat?”

“Either is fine,” Patrick said, even though hardly anyone except his family called him that anymore. He didn’t mind it from Jonny, though. “I’ll pick you up on Saturday, then? 7:30?”

“Sure. I look forward to it.”

 _I look forward to it_. What a dork. Patrick couldn’t even. 

***

It’d been a long time since Patrick was nervous on a first date. Though, to be fair, it’d been a long time since he’d been on a date with someone he actually liked. Come to think of it––this might actually be a first. Hand jobs and blow jobs with other guys who had as much to lose as he did didn’t count as dates. Neither did going to the movies with friends of his friends’ girlfriends when he’d never had any intention of making a move. 

“Are you kidding me,” Erica said. “You’re twenty-nine! This can’t possibly be your first date. Oh my God, my kids are never playing hockey. No wonder you’re so emotionally stunted.”

“Hey,” Patrick said, but he couldn’t even really argue with it. “I mean, I’m not––I’m not _out_ , Erica. It’s not like we can walk by the lake and hold hands.” He made a face. “Fuck, Jonny’s not going to want to date me.”

“You don’t know that,” she soothed him. “Have you told him yet that you know he used to play hockey?”

“No, I was following your advice and waiting until I wasn’t his patient anymore.” He paused, mulling it over. “How long can I wait before it gets weird?”

“Not that long,” she told him. 

She was right and he knew it. He’d seen enough romcoms to know that the longer he kept the secret, the worse it would be when it came out. On the other hand... he didn’t know how Jonny was going to react, and Patrick kind of wanted to see where this went. He wasn’t out, and Jonny probably didn’t want to date a closeted hockey player, but it was the first time in––ever, maybe, that Patrick had really been excited about someone. 

Jonny looked really good when Patrick picked him up. He smelled even better. Patrick didn’t know what he was wearing, but he had a moment after Jonny got in the car where he felt like all his higher brain functions had short-circuited. Patrick thought briefly about ditching the movie and dragging Jonny back up to his apartment. 

“Patrick?” Jonny said after a moment.

“Sorry!” Patrick said, and felt himself turn bright red. Patrick could not quite bring himself to say, _You smell good_. It didn’t seem like the kind of thing men said to each other, even men who were on a date. “It’s, uh, good to see you.”

“You too,” Jonny said. He didn’t look nervous, but he was smiling, so that was something. He settled into the passenger seat, and Patrick pulled out onto the street. “So are we really going to the movies?”

“That’s the plan,” Patrick said. “I reserved us seats at one of the theaters where they bring you food and beer.” And ‘reserved us seats,’ he meant ‘bought out the showing.’ “Thought we’d see the new _X-Men_?” 

“Sounds great,” Jonny said, leaning back in his seat. “So how’s the knee feeling?”

“Better,” Patrick said. “They’ve got me on the elliptical. I’m being careful,” he added hastily. “Promise.”

“Good. Don’t want you to undo all my hard work.”

“ _Your_ hard work!” Patrick said indignantly. 

Jonny laughed. “Well, okay, maybe it was a team effort.”

Patrick pulled to a stop at a red light and glanced at him with a smile. “Definitely a team effort.”

They were personally escorted to the theater by a manager. Jonny raised an eyebrow at the special treatment, but he didn’t say anything until the lights went down in a totally empty theater. 

“Patrick,” he said then, frowning over the rim of his beer.

“What?”

“You bought out the showing?”

Patrick wondered if he should have said something sooner. “You prefer grainy cell phone videos of our first date showing up online later? This seemed easier.”

“Yeah, it’s just... I can’t repay it. Not really.”

Patrick blinked. “I don’t expect you to.” Jonny still didn’t look satisfied, and Patrick sighed. “Look, I wouldn’t have been able to relax if I hadn’t done it. And I definitely wouldn’t have been able to do this,” he added, reaching to take Jonny’s hand. “I made the theater have all the staff sign NDAs, but I couldn’t do that with other customers.” He settled back in his seat, Jonny’s hand in his. “I swear it wasn’t about showing off. I just wanted to be able to enjoy myself without worrying. Is that really a problem?”

Jonny hesitated, then shook his head. “Just maybe let me know next time, okay?”

 _Next time._ Patrick refrained from punching the air, but it was close.

The upside to having bought out the theater was that they didn’t have to be quiet during the movie. Jonny, it transpired, had been living in a pop culture black hole for years and actually required an explanation to understand _X-Men_. Patrick did his best, though his own recollection of the other movies was hazy at best. 

“How do you not know any of this?” he finally asked, after stumbling through a shitty explanation of Rogue’s backstory that ate up most of a fight scene.

Jonny shrugged. “I don’t get out much. I told my brother I was going on a date tonight and he almost fell over in shock.”

“Really? I’d have thought you’d be fending them off with a stick.”

Jonny made a face. “I’m kind of... too much for a lot of people.”

“Too much?” Patrick repeated, ignoring for the moment what was happening on the screen. 

Jonny sipped his beer. “Too intense, I guess. That’s what the last, like, three guys I dated said. I can’t keep things casual.”

“Huh,” Patrick said. “Well, that kind of works out. I can’t do casual,” he said when Jonny looked at him. “I mean, I could, but it’d be a nightmare. I’m not risking being outed for a quick fuck.”

Jonny quirked his eyebrow at him. “Good to know.”

 _Shit._ “I mean––” Patrick grimaced and stared straight ahead at the screen. “Yeah, you know what I mean. I like you, or I wouldn’t be here.”

Jonny stretched his leg out and nudged his foot against Patrick’s. Patrick glanced at him. “Patrick? Same here.”

Patrick grinned. It wasn’t cool, it wasn’t smooth, but he couldn’t help it. He grinned. 

“So where to next?” Patrick asked when the movie was over. 

Jonny grimaced as he shrugged into his coat. “I sort of teach a yoga class at 6:30 on Sunday mornings.”

“Seriously?”

Jonny shrugged. “No one else wants it. It’s never been a problem before. But, um, if you wanted, you could come up to my place for a bit?”

Patrick danced a mental gig. “Sure.”

Jonny’s apartment was smaller but also cozier than Patrick had expected. He’d thought Jonny might be the minimalist type, but it felt comfortable and lived-in, with art on the walls and mail piled on the bench in the foyer. Jonny offered him scotch or a beer, and Patrick took him up on the scotch. He was unaccountably nervous, now that he was here. Jonny wasn’t a professional hockey player, but Patrick realized, looking around the apartment, that he was maybe an adult in a way that Patrick had never had to be. 

“So, yoga, huh?” Patrick said, when Jonny came and sat beside him on the sofa. 

“Yeah. You ever try it? It’s good for your back and your hips.”

Patrick sipped his scotch. “Nah. I know guys who are really into it, but I’ve always stuck with good old fashioned stretching. But if I had the right teacher...”

“I do occasionally give private sessions,” Jonny said with a smirk. 

“Do you?” Patrick replied, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“Well, I could.”

Patrick laughed. Jonny stretched and resettled closer on the sofa. Very smooth. Patrick swallowed the last of his scotch and let Jonny take the glass from him and set it on the coffee table. He turned, angled his body toward Jonny’s. Jonny slid his hand up Patrick’s forearm, his thumb gliding smoothly along the sensitive skin of the inside of Patrick’s wrist. Patrick broke out in goosebumps. 

There was a long moment of sizzling anticipation, and then Jonny leaned in and kissed Patrick. 

Patrick had kissed his fair share of people in his life. More than, probably. But nothing in his experience compared to kissing Jonny. He didn’t know if this was just what it was like to kiss someone you really liked or if it was just Jonny, but he’d never actually been so into kissing someone that he lost track of time altogether. He’d always been so worried about his technique or so impatient to get to the main event that he hadn’t been able to relax. Not since he was a teenager had kissing made his head spin and his heart pound quite like this.

“Whoa,” he said, when Jonny let him up for air. Jonny laughed and ducked his head to kiss the curve of Patrick’s neck. Patrick gave a full body shudder that was actually kind of embarrassing, or would have been if he didn’t think Jonny was just as affected as he was. 

“I really do have an early morning yoga class tomorrow,” Jonny said regretfully. 

“Yeah,” Patrick said, trying to get his breathing under control. “Uh. Right. So, second date?”

“Second date,” Jonny agreed, smiling. “How about Friday?”

To be honest, Patrick would’ve happily seen him way sooner than that, but he was aware that Jonny had a full-time job, while Patrick currently had a few hours of training and PT a day. “Friday sounds great.”

***

 **EK:** AND?

 **PK:** Best date ever.

 **EK:** YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY

 **EK:** Did you tell him you know about the hockey?

 **PK:** No

 **EK:** PATRICK

 **PK:** I will I will I will

 **EK:** If you fuck this up I will come to Chicago in person to strangle you

 **PK:** Thx for the support

 **EK:** sad trombone noise

***

Erica was a pain in the ass, but Patrick knew she was right. Patrick wasn’t sure how he was supposed to bring up Jonny’s injury, but he was going to have to figure it out before too long or it was going to get weird. 

For their second date, Patrick made reservations at a stupidly trendy speakeasy called Bathtub Gin that had private back rooms. He’d taken people there before and it was impressive as fuck. You had to know the storefront, which looked like a coffee shop, and a bouncer led you through the crowded bar and into the back, where it got much quieter. The minimum was $800 and Patrick had paid upfront so he wouldn’t have to worry about it later. 

“Uh,” Jonny said after their server had shown them back. “This is... interesting.”

Patrick settled back into the love seat and stretched his arm out along its back. “You seem like the kind of guy who might be into artisanal gin cocktails.”

Jonny wrinkled his nose. “I’m not sure how to take that.”

“Just shut up and order something,” Patrick said, throwing the menu at him. “It’s all good, and I already paid, so don’t even think about arguing.”

Jonny sat down, gratifyingly close, even if he still looked kind of skeptical. “You don’t have to do that, you know. I’m well off enough to pay for myself. I’m not a professional hockey player, but I do all right.”

“I know,” Patrick said, a little worried about the defensive note in Jonny’s voice. “I just––I pay a premium for privacy, okay? Maybe at some point I won’t have to anymore, but for the moment I’m willing to pay through the nose so we don’t have to worry about social media or the gossip sites.”

Jonny still looked kind of annoyed, but then he just sighed. “Okay. I guess that makes sense.” 

Their server came back to take their order. Once she’d left, Jonny leaned in toward Patrick, his head drifting toward Patrick’s shoulder as though he wanted to rest it there. Patrick let his hand rest on Jonny’s upper arm, and Jonny finally relaxed into him with a sigh. 

“Long week?” Patrick asked. 

“Yeah. How was yours? You back on the ice?”

“Yup, as of yesterday. It went okay, but it’s gonna be a couple more weeks before I’m ready to play again. And the team’s been doing so badly, I’m not sure we’ll make the playoffs.” It hurt to admit out loud, but there was no point in pretending otherwise. 

“That sucks. I’m sorry to hear that.”

Patrick shrugged. “It happens. I used to freak out over that sort of thing, and now––well, I still hate losing, but I don’t go on a three-day bender over it anymore.”

“Good,” Jonny said. “I’m not sure I’d have dated that Patrick.”

“That Patrick was an asshole,” Patrick agreed. “Getting older is good for some things, I guess. But... I don’t know. Every season is one season closer to retirement for me.”

Jonny looked at him. “Do you think about it much?”

Patrick shook his head. “No. My mom says I should, because if I don’t it’ll be harder, later. But thinking about it now... it feels like I should just be focusing on the here and now, you know? I only have so long to do this, and I should enjoy it while I can. But then this injury...” He grimaced. “It wasn’t career-ending, but it could have been.”

He hadn’t really meant to leave Jonny such an obvious opening. He glanced at Jonny, subtly, but Jonny’s face didn’t give much away. Their server returned with their drinks, and for a few seconds after she left again, Jonny didn’t say anything. Patrick let him be; the silence wasn’t bad, really. He was kind of used to it, even, since Jonny hadn’t said much to him for the first few weeks of physio. 

“I understand,” Jonny finally said. “Probably better than you think.”

For a split second, Patrick thought about playing dumb. It seemed like Jonny had decided to just tell him about his could-have-been hockey career, and he could probably get away without ever actually telling him he’d already found out. But if this became a thing, a real thing, then Patrick would have to keep on lying to him about it. It might never come up again, but then again... it might. The hockey world was small. He couldn’t avoid Jack Johnson forever, probably. 

“You mean, because of your injury?” Patrick said. 

Jonny looked at him. His face cycled through a bunch of emotions, all of them too fast for Patrick to pin down. “How’d you know?” he finally asked. 

“I googled you,” Patrick admitted, “and found the roster from Shattuck. Then I asked Jack Johnson, and he told me what happened.”

Jonny didn’t say anything for a bit. Patrick drank about a third of his drink, way too fast, because now the silence was weird, and he didn’t know how Jonny was going to react. He should’ve lied, he thought. 

“Sorry,” Jonny said at last. “I’m just... trying to figure out if I should be mad or not.”

“Not,” Patrick said immediately. 

Jonny snorted a little laugh. “Yeah, all right. I guess I can’t be that mad. God knows I know enough about you from Google.”

Patrick groaned and slumped down in his chair. “I don’t even want to know.”

“Probably not,” Jonny agreed. “Anyway. I didn’t think about what I’d do if I didn’t make it to the show, until I had no other choice. For what it’s worth, I think your mom is right. If you have a plan, retirement won’t be so bad. It was fucking awful for like a year and a half until I figured things out. It’s okay,” he added, looking at Patrick. “I’m mostly over it. I like my job. I like my life.”

 _Mostly_ over it was not at all the same thing as _totally_ over it. “How mostly is mostly?” Patrick asked. “Mostly enough to listen to me talk about it? Mostly enough to come to my games?”

“Yeah, I think so. It’s funny,” Jonny said, stretching out his legs. “If you’d told me when I was seventeen that I’d eventually be over it at all, I don’t think I would have believed you. But I got better. My head got better, then the rest of me.”

“Why don’t you watch hockey, then?” Patrick asked. “You were kind of weird about it when I started coming to you.”

Jonny shrugged. “I think I didn’t want to care about hockey, or care about your career, or anything like that. But I got curious. All my colleagues at the clinic talked about you, and I kept having people tell me that I’d better not fuck you up, the Hawks needed you. So I finally watched some clips.”

“Ha!” Patrick said, sitting up. “I _knew_ it! When you told me I was too good to risk a worse injury, I _knew_ you must have seen me play! What did you watch? Was it a highlight reel? There are a couple of good ones on YouTube.”

Jonny rolled his eyes. “Of course you watch your own highlight reels.”

“Only after I’ve read a bunch of Twitter comments about how I’m the worst,” Patrick told him honestly. “I keep a handful of them bookmarked for when my press sucks, so I can remind myself that it’s not true.”

Jonny shrugged. “That’s fair. Anyway, yeah, I watched a highlight reel and I thought... okay, yeah, this guy is something special.”

Patrick grinned. He couldn’t help himself. 

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Jonny muttered into his glass. 

“Too late.”

“I figured.” Jonny smiled at him. “Anyway, sorry for being weird about it.”

“It’s okay,” Patrick said. “I have a thing for standoffish assholes, so it kind of worked for me. And this case, you’re not actually a standoffish asshole, so it’s even better, because usually the same qualities that attract me are the ones I should be avoiding at all costs––my sister’s words––and this time I got to have my cake _and_ eat it.”

Jonny laughed. “I can be a standoffish asshole. My entire family will confirm that.”

“But not this time?”

“Trying not to be.”

“Good enough for me,” Patrick said, with a shrug and a grin. He took another sip of his drink and angled his body toward Jonny’s. They were both quiet for a few seconds. “You’re probably right about retirement,” Patrick finally said. “Part of it has been that I don’t have that much in my life outside of hockey. Other guys have wives or girlfriends and kids, and it never seemed like that was in the cards for me. So there wasn’t a lot of incentive.”

Jonny nodded. “I can see that. Are you looking for some incentive?”

“You could say that,” Patrick said, and bumped Jonny’s knee gently with his own.

They had a second round, and then a third. By the time they left, they were both pleasantly tipsy. “Any early morning yoga classes I should know about?” Patrick asked as they walked down the block. 

“Nope,” Jonny said with a grin. “Your place or mine?”

“Mine,” Patrick said, surprising even himself. He almost never had people over, but he trusted Jonny enough to let him into his space. He thumbed open the Lyft app on his phone and called for a car. 

The cleaning service had come that morning, so the place was tidy at least. Jonny wandered through the living room and then into the kitchen while Patrick got them glasses of water and a couple of beers from the fridge. “That view,” Jonny said. “You don’t get that on a physical therapist’s salary.”

“It’s even better in daylight,” Patrick said, pushing Jonny’s beer and his glass of water across the island to him. “You should stay and find out.”

Jonny smiled. He came around the island and crowded, slowly, into Patrick’s personal space, sliding his thigh between Patrick’s. His hands bracketed Patrick’s hips. Patrick tilted his head back just a bit, to meet Jonny’s eyes. 

“Maybe I will,” Jonny said, and kissed him. 

It was just as good as Patrick remembered––maybe even better. He let Jonny press him up against the counter and kiss him until his knees went embarrassingly weak. He slung his arms around Jonny’s shoulders and hung on for the ride.

Jonny pulled away. “I’d really like to suck you off,” he murmured in Patrick’s ear. “Is that all right with you?”

“Uh yeah,” Patrick said dazedly. “Here?”

“Or somewhere that won’t kill my knees,” Jonny said, a smile in his voice. 

“Bedroom,” Patrick decided, tugging Jonny along. 

It took about eight times as long as it should have to get there, since they kept stopping to kiss and shed clothes along the way. At one point, Jonny just shoved Patrick up against the wall and latched onto his neck. Patrick’s dick throbbed in his pants and he moaned, digging his fingertips into Jonny’s biceps. The lack of blood flow to his brain was the only excuse he had for moaning, “Fuck, I used to think about this during our sessions.”

Jonny actually broke away to stare at him, which was not what Patrick had been going for. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Patrick said, and pushed him back toward the bedroom. “You’re so focused. I used to get all hot and bothered when you were working on me.”

“Really?” Jonny said again, even more dubiously. “Most people don’t find physical therapy all that much of a turn-on.”

“It wasn’t the fucking PT, Jonny, it was you.” Patrick shoved him down onto the bed and climbed on top of him. “You were all serious and––and _looking_ at me. It was hot as fuck.”

“People look at you all the time.”

“Not like that,” Patrick said, not really able to explain it any more than that. “Not like you do.”

Jonny wasn’t a professional hockey player, but he obviously put his time in at the gym. He flipped them over, showing off a little, Patrick suspected. That was fine with Patrick. He hadn’t spent a lot of time in a bed with another guy, and it was easy to let Jonny take charge. They ditched the last few articles of clothing between them, and then Jonny prodded Patrick into sitting up against the pillows. “Better view this way,” Jonny said, straddling Patrick’s thighs. “Assuming you’re into that.”

“I’m––this is going to sound really fucking dumb, but I’m not sure what I’m into.” Patrick looked away, kind of hiding his face in Jonny’s shoulder. He could feel Jonny’s dick pressing into his hip and it was making it hard to think straight. “I’m not a virgin or anything, but most of the guys I’ve been with––it’s always been kind of rushed and on the D-L. And the ones that weren’t that way were kind of...”

“Standoffish assholes?” Jonny suggested.

Patrick grimaced. “Yeah. So I’ve never done anything... complicated.”

Jonny leaned down and kissed Patrick slowly. Patrick’s erection had flagged a bit, but it perked up again fast enough. Then he pulled away and rested his forehead against Patrick’s. “Are you trying to say you’ve never been fucked before?”

Patrick swallowed. “Yeah.”

“But you want to be?”

“I do, yeah. Maybe not tonight,” Patrick added. “That blowjob sounded pretty awesome. But yeah. If you’re into that.”

“I’m into a lot of things,” Jonny told him. “And I’m into the idea that no one’s ever been here,” he slid his hand down to cup the top of the curve of Patrick’s ass, “before. You ever been fingered? Not just a finger up your ass, but really opened up?”

 _Jesus_. “No,” Patrick admitted. 

Jonny sucked in a breath. His pupils were blown wide, Patrick realized, looking up at him. This conversation was equal parts arousing and embarrassing for Patrick, but it was apparently all kinds of hot for Jonny. “Okay. That’s what we’re gonna do. And if you like it, next time, I’ll fuck you.”

“Sounds good,” Patrick managed, even though all the moisture had just mysteriously evaporated from his mouth. 

Jonny laid him out on the bed with a pillow wedged under his hips. It made Patrick feel exposed and vulnerable, but it wasn’t the first time he’d been vulnerable in front of Jonny. He flashed back suddenly to the first time they’d met, what Jonny had said to him: “I am very good at my job, and I’m going to get you back on the ice, good as new.” He’d had total confidence in himself.

Patrick had believed him. There had been something about Jonny that he’d trusted even then. And so even though this was weird and uncomfortable, he took a deep breath and relaxed. Because it was Jonny, and Jonny had always taken care of him before. 

He’d been right about Jonny’s blowjob skills. Jonny was focused and methodical, and he sucked Patrick off until his thighs were shaking. Only then did he sneak a slicked-up hand back behind Patrick’s balls. Patrick shuddered, his whole body tight with anticipation––with nerves or desire or a weird mix of the two. 

Jonny pulled off his dick with a faint _pop_. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Patrick drew a shuddering breath. 

“I’ll go slow. It might be weird at first.”

Patrick managed a laugh. “No shit, you’re putting your finger up my––o-kay, there it is.” Patrick squirmed. _Weird_ was one word for it. Jonny put his free hand on his hip, stilling him, and leaned down to tongue the head of his dick. 

The second finger was even weirder. Patrick was about to tell Jonny to stop, that this wasn’t doing anything for him, when Jonny, with a look of great concentration, crooked both fingers inside of him and nudged Patrick’s prostate. A bolt of heat shot up Patrick’s spine, like a miniature orgasm, and he cried out. 

“There we go,” Jonny said smugly, and did it again. 

Things got kind of hazy after that. Jonny worked him over, with his mouth on Patrick’s dick and three fingers in Patrick’s ass, just as deliberate and focused as Patrick had ever imagined he would be. He kept Patrick on the edge for forever, until Patrick thought he was going to die, until he had tears leaking out of his eyes and soaking down into the hair at his temples. It was better than any sex he’d ever had, it was better than he’d ever imagined sex could be.

When Jonny finally let Patrick come, it felt like being hit by a truck. His body seized up, clenching down on Jonny’s fingers in his ass. Jonny pulled off his dick and finished him off with his hand, and when Patrick finally opened his eyes again, Jonny was staring at him, rapt. “Fuck, Patrick,” Jonny said. “You are so fucking beautiful.”

Patrick gasped for breath and managed, “Get up here, wanna get you off but I can’t move.”

Jonny slid up Patrick’s body and settled himself mostly on top of him. “Next time I’m definitely fucking you, that was amazing. Can I fuck your thighs?” 

“Yeah, yeah. Dammit, where’s the lube?”

They managed to find the lube in the folds of the blankets. Jonny slicked up the inside of Patrick’s thighs. Patrick rolled over onto his side and grabbed a pillow. The pressure of Jonny’s dick between his thighs, so close to where he wanted him, was enough to make him moan.

“This is gonna take about three minutes. I got so worked up seeing you like that,” Jonny said breathlessly. 

It took a little longer than three minutes. Patrick felt pretty useless; he was always tired and sleepy after coming. But he tried to make it good for Jonny, tightening his thighs around his dick, and arching his back when Jonny kissed his neck. Even worn out, it was the best sex he’d ever had. 

Fuck Jonny. Patrick was fucking ruined for anyone else after this. 

Patrick felt Jonny’s hips stutter and then a flood of hot come between his thighs. Patrick’s tired dick twitched hopefully, and Patrick wondered if it was too late for round two. He might have to wait till morning. Or not. Neither of them had anywhere to be. 

Jonny had collapsed behind him. Patrick rolled over and cuddled up close, ignoring for now the fact that they were both going to be sticky and disgusting in a few minutes. 

“Good?” Jonny mumbled.

“So good,” Patrick replied. “That was better than I imagined it would be when I was trying not to pop a boner in front of you during our sessions.” 

Jonny lifted his head and stared at Patrick incredulously. Then he burst out laughing. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know,” Patrick said smugly, and slung an arm across Jonny’s waist. 

***

 **EK:** Well?

 **PK:** EGGPLANT EMOJI

 **EK:** You’re not supposed to write out “eggplant emoji,” you tool. DID YOU TELL HIM?

 **PK:** Yep.

 **EK:** AND?

 **PK:** Can’t talk. Busy. 

**EK:** GROSS. 

***

“So you’re sure you’re okay with this?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I do want to.”

“I’m just saying, you shouldn’t feel any pressure to––”

“Patrick, will you stop? I don’t know how many more ways to say I’m fine with sitting with your family during the game!” 

“Okay, okay, okay,” Patrick said, taking a deep breath. Jonny stepped closer and batted his hands away so he could fix his tie. “If you’re sure. They’re just––they’re a lot, all taken together. And they’re curious about you.”

“Patrick.” Jonny ran his fingers down Patrick’s tie and leaned in to kiss him. “I’m fine with it. You shouldn’t be worrying about me, anyway. Just concentrate on the game.”

Patrick grimaced. “What if I suck? I haven’t played in seven weeks.”

“You won’t suck.”

“What if I––”

Jonny kissed him. “Patrick. I promised you I’d get you fixed up good as new and back on the ice. Are you doubting my skills?”

Patrick had to smile. “Never.” 

“Then there’s nothing to worry about.”

Patrick leaned in and kissed him again. “Promise?”

Jonny smiled. “Promise.”

_Fin._


End file.
